


a real boner killer

by wekea



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Kihyun goes to bed at dawn, M/M, Minhyuk eats hearts, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wekea/pseuds/wekea
Summary: that one fic where Jooheon wishes he wasn't a half-demon





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sneaking in under the wire to fill my 2nd joohyuk bingo square, Mythical Creatures

Minhyuk's gotten blowjobs in worse places, which really shouldn't be a point of pride if you asked Some people he might know, but leaning against a urinal in a grimy nightclub bathroom as the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth sucks his soul out through his dick is its own unique and special experience.

When he comes it makes him feel like he's gonna black out so he does, just for a minute, just for the novelty of it. Minhyuk is a fan of killing time, he's a bonafide murderer of time, and falling asleep when he doesn't have to is the perfect opportunity for his particular brand of slaughter.

When he wakes up he's been picked up, picked up and slung over a shoulder (like a bag of potatoes, he thinks delightedly to himself, because he's always sort of wanted to be kidnapped and thrown over somebody's shoulder like a bag of potatoes— it's always struck him as romantic in a satirically byronic sort of way) and he lets his lax, sated body get manhandled over and around a corner and into a bathroom stall. He looks up when he's finally dumped down onto the toilet, and slurs, "Does this mean we're not going for round two?"

There are so many things that can happen when you speak to someone while sitting on a toilet. In Minhyuk's experience it's usually somewhere along the lines of Kihyun hitting him with a broom while yelling at him to grow a single civilized bone and stop asking for sandwiches while in the process of taking an actual _shit_ , Minhyuk, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you, but this time Kihyun is somewhere else, there are exactly zero cleaning implements of any kind, and the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth is standing over him with a wild look in his eyes and Minhyuk's cum smeared across his lips.

"You," says the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth, "y-you're supposed to be _dead_."

Minhyuk sits up.

Minhyuk tries to sit up.

Minhyuk rolls around a little until he's flopped over with his elbows on his knees and his head propped on one shoulder so that he can speak with any dignity whatsoever. "I'm not," he says, because gravity is far too harsh a mistress and he simply doesn't have the chutzpah to banter properly after all the work he's put into pulling himself together.

The sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth is nowhere to be found.

It takes a few minutes for his muscles to warm up but it's not that long before Minhyuk can pull his phone out of his pocket without dropping it. He sits back against the toilet, starts a new text, types absolute nonsense with his fucking idiot fingers, backs out of it, and goes to make a phone call instead.

"What," says the phone.

"I think I just got a blowjob from some kinda soul sucking thing," Minhyuk says. He slurs it, really, but Kihyun's gotten so many drunk late night calls by now that he probably understands Intoxicated better than he understands Sober. "I'm all..." Minhyuk hesitates for a moment and then flaps one hand pensively in the air. "Wobbly," he says matter-of-factly.

The phone says, "Great. A soul sucking thing. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Nap time," Minhyuk guesses.

"Yes," the phone says. It sounds very testy.

"I'm very sorry, your sleeplessness—" Oh, that one's good. Minhyuk decides to tuck that one away for later, and then immediately forgets it. "—But it's not like I was out here looking for a soul sucking thing to suck the soul out of my balls."

"Please don't say it like that. You know I hate it when you talk about your balls."

"It's where I keep my soul."

"Ha! Not anymore, asshole."

"Listen, I need a pick up," Minhyuk says, because a) he doesn't have time for this and b) Kihyun will definitely win this riff off if the topic doesn't change, so Minhyuk changes it to what he called about in the first place. "Do you know where I am?"

Kihyun has known where Minhyuk is at any given moment for a little over a hundred years but Minhyuk still likes to ask. It keeps him on his toes. Reminds him who's boss. Also Minhyuk lives for the deep-seated frustration expressed in Kihyun's sighs and groans and muttered complaints, and what better way to reap that harvest than to sow a little doubt in his abilities from time to time?

"One of these days I'm going to tell you I don't know," the phone says, "and then I'm going to take a nap and let you rot in a bathroom stall at the nightclub on 32nd and Hector that used to be called Blue Moon when it was the jazz-themed pack-run club but after the St Elmo's fire some locals bought it and now it has a boring name that references a crass sexual position."

"You're a gem, Ki."

"I'll see you in five minutes," says the phone. "I expect you to wash your hands before you get in the car."

 

* * *

 

"'You're supposed to be dead'?"

"Yeah, but cuter."

It warms Minhyuk's heart to see Kihyun's jaw clench with annoyance. "This is as cute as I get," Kihyun says, and stomps on the clutch like he's got something to prove.

"I know. And we're all extremely grateful."

"Why would he think you were dead?"

"I mean I did go unconscious for a minute there so I can sort of see why he'd think that initially, but it’s the 'supposed to' that keeps tripping me up."

"Yeah," says Kihyun. "Hmm."

"Hmm," Minhyuk echoes. This is Kihyun's strategizing face. This should be good.

"... Siren?"

"Doubt it. I didn't even hear him whistle."

"Veela."

"Ki, be serious. This isn't Harry Potter, this is real life."

Kihyun drives with his lights off at night, which is one of the smartest things about him. Both of them can see better in the snow without fake sunshine glinting off the ice. He used to care about things like the law, and not scaring the shit out of other drivers. It was a rough time for everyone, except for everyone other than Kihyun and Minhyuk, but they were the only ones who were actually important so whatever.

The car screams through a red light. No one dies, but a nearby pedestrian is briefly very startled. The bats overhead aren’t startled. They heard it coming.

Minhyuk’s house, for lack of a better word, is located at the very top of a very lonely, very densely wooded hill. There are other buildings on the hill, supposedly, but nobody seems to live in them, or work in them, or really go anywhere on the hill at all. Kihyun turns onto the road that curves gently around the incline and they’re as alone than anyone could ever be while riding in a car with one’s best friend.

“Wow,” Minhyuk says happily, slamming the car door behind him. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.”

“Don’t brag,” Kihyun says back. “How many times have you gotten up close and personal with a witch’s tit, anyway?”

“Don’t judge me and my witch tittery.”

“I didn’t, I just want to know how many witch tits you’ve seen.”

“You just want to talk about how you’re too dead to be cold, braggart,” Minhyuk says, digging through his jacket pocket for his house keys even though he really doesn’t need to. Kihyun has a permanent invite into the building; locks and Kihyun never work on the same door at the same time. He puts the Key in Ki. “Man, I was gonna get a bite to eat while I was out.”

Kihyun barely touches the doorknob and the latch clicks obediently, hinges creaking exaggeratedly as the door swings open. It’s a very good creak. Kihyun worked on it for ages, sitting on the floor in the foyer with a little syringe of hot water to painstakingly rust the metal in just the right way. “Leftovers again?”

“I wonder,” Minhyuk muses, wandering through the door behind Kihyun and kicking it shut behind him, “if I could’ve gotten my energy back from that guy if I’d eaten his heart.”

“I don’t have time for hypotheticals. The sun is coming up in half an hour, if you want me to make you something it has to be now.”

“You don’t _have_ to fall asleep at dawn.”

“I can and I will.”

“I can microwave my own heart,” Minhyuk says. “Go crawl into your stupid coffin and read a book until lights out or something. You’re so boring.”

“Better boring than twice dead,” Kihyun says back. He turns on his heel when he makes for the basement door, like the little twerp he is, and Minhyuk makes a face at his back.

Technically it’s supposed to be human hearts, if you listen to all the stories, but Minhyuk has whiled away his demi-immortality in the pursuit of knowledge— which is why the freezer in his basement is filled with individually bagged pig hearts that were perfectly passable when he could get distracted enough while eating not to gag the meat back up. He used to watch a lot of really terrible reality television before stumbling over the treasure trove that was early 90’s soap operas, and now regularly chokes down pig hearts to the siren song of General Hospital and Days Of Our Lives.

He’s gone through a lot of different types of hearts over the years, starting with the sorts of animals that no one misses. Mice. Rats. Little things that rustle under ivy at the edge of the forest, eyes that bounce back light in the dark, sharp teeth built for survival.

Minhyuk’s eyes also bounce back light in the dark but his teeth are twice as sharp, and so he had his fill of tiny stuttering hearts; handfuls of them rolling in his palm like marbles, like popcorn chicken.

It turns out that biting into the heart of something stupid is like biting into an apple and finding an entire civilization of worms. Not only is there a worm, but there are a lot of them, and they would all rather you not eat them. The feeling is mutual.

 _Technically_ it’s supposed to be human hearts, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s something in the intelligence, an awareness of one’s fate. Humans stink of mortality and Minhyuk drinks it like wine, better than wine, vodka— no— kool-aid, but if kool-aid were good for you.

Little things that rustle under ivy are aware of their mortality in the same way a fish is aware of water and their hearts taste like dust. Worse than dust, bitter and sticky and terrible, something that’s never supposed to be tasted. Popcorn chicken of terribleness is what they are. Nothing good about them whatsoever, other than the satisfying squeak the small creatures make when you catch them.

He can live off dog hearts if he has to. Cat hearts are tasteless; the only mortality cats are aware of is that of everyone else. Crow hearts taste good but they’re like candy, empty and sweet.

Minhyuk sits at the kitchen table and watches a pig heart in a stained tupperware turn slowly in the microwave as the sky lightens out on the other side of the window. He’s tired is what he is, more tired than he usually is after a night out, and he’s starting to wonder if the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth really did suck out a little of his soul.

Life energy. Whatever. Something like that. If Kihyun were awake he’d probably pat Minhyuk companionably on the shoulder and say simply, “Magic,” as if that were a thing.

Kihyun, while sensible, believes in some very stupid things. Aliens, for example. Demons. Why make things more complicated for yourself? There are already perfectly good ghouls and goblins and myriad Things That Go Bump In The Night running around in real life, it’s silly to make up _fantasy_ creatures.

But then again, Kihyun _is_ sensible.

Hmm.

Minhyuk rests his chin on his hand and watches the sun come up as he waits for the microwave to ding.

 

* * *

 

At this very moment, somewhere back in the city, the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth is sitting on the edge of his bed and trying to come to terms with the fact that he is not actually a murderer.

He hadn’t intended to be a murderer to start out with, so in some ways this is a relief, but there are certain ways you expect certain things to go, and in _his_ experience people who go unconscious after he sucks their soul out through their dick... don’t wake up. Usually. Typically. He hasn’t seen it happen before, anyway, and it’s not like you can just call 1-800-HOW-DO-U-CONTROL-UR-SEX-POWERS to talk to trained counselors who are standing by to validate your life experience and walk you through sucking souls out of people through various erogenous zones.

Sometimes puberty does things like give you acne, and other times it does things like cause you to kill your first serious boyfriend the first time you suck his dick in your dad’s basement. That was the worst. He was still hard when he died, and then there had been the whole thing with the police…

The sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth rubs his hands over his face and wishes for neither the first nor the last time that his mom were here, but this time he doesn’t feel bad about it.

The term _necessary evil_ comes to mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Kihyun rises from his dark meditation and creeps up the basement steps like a shadow, because if he sleeps in Minhyuk might try to make tea again and he’d only just managed to get the last of the blood out of the teapot last week.

Minhyuk seems to still be asleep when Kihyun steals into the kitchen, leaving the lights off and slipping through the dark. This is very goth and interesting until he knocks his shin on the open dishwasher and decides that enough is enough. He turns on the lights.

“Hell,” Kihyun stutters, jumping back. “How long have you been sitting here in the dark?”

“The sun only went down a couple minutes ago,” Minhyuk says. He blinks in the sudden fluorescence. “I’ve been thinking about that guy.”

“You smell rank.”

“Yeah I had to eat, like…” Minhyuk looks at his hands like he’s counting on his fingers. “Way too many hearts. I think I got food poisoning or something but I was just… I was really _hungry_ , you know? Felt like I hadn’t eaten in 800 days.”

Kihyun stands by the sink, hand on the tap. When Minhyuk says 800 days he means 800 days because he knows what it’s like not to eat for 800 days. Minhyuk can be a liar but right now he’s sitting slumped over at the kitchen table staring at his trembling hands like he’s not sure they belong to him and Kihyun has the stomach-dropping suspicion that he’s not exaggerating this time.

“800 days?” echoes Kihyun. He doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t change the tone of his voice, and he doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t think about what 800 days really means.

“No,” Minhyuk says after a second. “Maybe like… 300. I dunno.” He looks up and his eyes are a little bit more wild than they usually are, more wild than they should be, a little more like an animal and a little less like something that has control over its appetite. “I really think that guy at the club was something, man. He’s human, I—” He squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head again like he’s got a migraine. “He smelled human, Ki. I coulda sworn.”

When Minhyuk looks up again his headache face changes into an expression of deep and abiding disinterest as soon as their eyes meet. “He isn’t,” he says. “I can see that look on your face. He’s _not_.”

“He’s gotta be,” hisses Kihyun, pulling out the chair next to Minhyuk to sit down. “A demon. You got your dick sucked by a demon, Min.”

“Demons don’t exist.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“We haven’t seen any evidence of demons,” Minhyuk concedes, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been over that, you can’t prove a negative, whatever. Listen, I think he’s something.”

“Right.” Kihyun nods wisely. “Like a demon.”

“ _If_ demons exist,” says Minhyuk, holding up one finger, “I think I’d be dead now. Aren’t they supposed to possess, like, otherworldly power or something? I’d be a soot shadow on the wall.”

“A half demon, then.”

Minhyuk closes his eyes. “Sure,” he says. “A half demon. I’m going to bed.”

 

* * *

 

The sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth is named Jooheon, and his mother is a succubus.

His dad has never given a proper explanation for this. It just is what it is, and so now sometimes Jooheon has to go and find somebody who looks like they’ve got enough life energy to siphon off without killing them so that he can get a quick fill-up to keep the withdrawal crazies away. It’s like inheriting an addiction from a parent, except the addiction is to sexual energy and Jooheon really, _really_ never meant to become the blowjob guy.

Last night Jooheon met a guy who glowed like a thousand lightning bugs in a jar, who bought him a drink before he’d had a chance to say hello, whose energy tasted so damn good that Jooheon stopped thinking with his head and started thinking with that part of himself that _needed_ until he felt the guy’s heart stop and remembered what he was doing. It had been ages since the last time he’d had to hide a body and all he could think of was the old Heart Attack On The Toilet trick and then he’d been so out of breath that when the corpse of the lightning bug guy looked up and heavily implied he’d like to have more sex, Jooheon almost drowned in his own spit.

Because, okay, look, here’s the thing: he was _supposed to be dead_.

Jooheon wakes up to the cold light of a winter morning filtering in through his blinds. Last night he’d been out late and gotten home after sunrise, keys jingling in his shaking hands, so scared that he was certain he couldn’t sleep and so exhausted that he couldn’t stay awake. Now it’s morning, and his phone says it’s still today. He got home a few hours ago, two hours, maybe three, and he’s slept way less than he should have but he feels like he could go for a run or something.

A run? Really? Yes really, Jooheon’s body says, and practically stands up on its own.

It takes just under three hours to take care of all of the errands he’s been putting off for the last month and when he’s done he’s still not tired so he swings by the ice cream place down the block from his apartment. He never lets himself go to the ice cream place, it’s one of those fancy ones with high quality organic grass-fed free range bespoke everything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t walk by it every day and look at the handwritten chalk sandwich board sign outside and think wistfully of some far-off future where he, too, can partake in a scoop of honey lavender gelato in a fresh, hot, golden waffle cone.

It’s winter and the temperature has been hovering just above freezing for days but Jooheon gets ice cream anyway, eating it by the window and watching people go by on the sidewalk. The ice cream place is usually so busy that the line stretches out the door and down the block but he’d arrived at the perfect moment and now sits in a cloud of honeyed waffle perfume as the shop fills back up with customers. The crowd waxes and wanes in and out like breath with Jooheon comfortably in the eye of the storm.

This isn’t a problem, not really, but Jooheon hasn’t been comfortable in over a decade. He sits in the eye of the storm, eating his ice cream, watching people walk by, feeling the cold on his tongue, and knows, without a doubt, that something is not right.


	3. Chapter 3

Kihyun knocks on Minhyuk’s bedroom door at 1 o’clock in the godforsaken morning. Minhyuk knows it’s godforsaken because that’s the only kind of mornings he gets anymore, owning a vampire butler and all, but this one is especially godforsaken because Kihyun doesn’t wait for him to say something before sticking his head in and saying, “Hey, Min. I’ve been thinking.”

“I’m asleep,” Minhyuk says. “You can tell I’m asleep because I’m lying face down in bed under a blanket in the dark and it’s night time and an hour ago I told you I was going to sleep.”

“The half demon,” Kihyun says, closing the door behind him like there’s anyone else to keep a secret from. “I think I figured it out. Why he thought you were supposed to be dead.”

“He’s not a half demon,” Minhyuk mumbles against his pillow. “Why—”

“You said he was a soul sucking thing, right? What if he _is_? What if he took some of your energy? That’s why you had to eat all those hearts, he took enough of your energy to kill you.”

“But he _didn’t_ kill me.”

“Right, but only because you’re not human.”

Minhyuk opens his eyes in spite of his better judgment. “Okay,” he says, and sits up. He hates this. He hates it when Kihyun has a point, especially while he’s sleeping. “But he didn’t know I’m not human.”

“Then no wonder he was so surprised when you weren’t dead, idiot,” Kihyun hisses. “If you thought I was human and cut my heart out to eat it wouldn’t it put you off your meal a little when I kept on walking around?”

“I would never make that mistake, Ki. You reek of death.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but you’re missing my point.”

“What, then? What is your point?”

“That he’s still out there,” says Kihyun, “and we could just go out there and _ask_ him.”

Minhyuk looks at Kihyun. Kihyun looks at Minhyuk. “‘We’?” asks Minhyuk.

Kihyun’s teeth are always sharp, but in the dark what little light there is glances off the points of his canines. He smiles, and they look as fine as razors. “I’ve got an idea,” he says.

The word 'idea' is an optimistic misnomer at best, because it involves a) going back to the club and b) seeing if the guy is there and c) very little else. Kihyun helpfully points out that they have very little of anything, and if Minhyuk wants to know what's going on he'll have to just suck it up and go to the goddamn club sometime.

Minhyuk doesn't care what's going on. He's not interested. It's stupid, it's over, it doesn't matter.

Kihyun asks him why he's putting his jeans on.

"I don't want to hear it," Minhyuk says. Kihyun, obedient, says nothing— but his wide smug grin is so loud the noise of it fills the car all the way into the city.

 

* * *

 

Hyungwon’s usual order is a white russian, (hold the vodka, hold the kahlua), and he'll sip at it slowly at the same cocktail table they always claim, the one tucked next to the wall; he likes to watch the room sway and throb with the music from a distance, preferring to touch the outside world with a ten foot pole. He's comfortable everywhere by way of being uncomfortable everywhere and together they spend uncomfortable evenings trying to find somebody for Jooheon to snack on while Hyungwon laps absently at his highball glass of cream.

Tonight Hyungwon is with him because Jooheon is... he's... okay, look, it's not that he's—

"Don't look so scared," Hyungwon says. "They can smell fear."

The ice rattles in Jooheon's glass when he startles. "Who?"

"I dunno. Dogs I guess. It's something people say. Do you think the bartender would give me a little umbrella if I asked?"

Being half succubus is a little bit like having really sexy synesthesia, which would be great if you have any say about when it happened, and how much, and how intensely, or really any one of the above. Hormones and pheromones sound like bells. Infatuation tastes like orange sorbet, limerence like a cadillac margarita. (Sometimes you’ll pick up the taste of bitter lime on the back of your tongue, and you don’t think about it, and you don’t look.) The people around you are lit up like christmas trees all the time, some of them dull, some of them bright, and sometimes, rarely, the glow is strong enough to cast shadows that no one but you can see.

No one but Jooheon, in this context; he turns toward Hyungwon to say something unimportant and sees his friend's silhouette thrown stark against the wall by the swirling light of a thousand little lightning bugs.

Holy shit he's so _fucking_ hungry.

"He's here," Jooheon says, only choking a little as he leans in close to whisper in Hyungwon's ear.

"How can you tell?"

"Trust me. Look over my shoulder— blond, face looks carved out of marble, big hands—"

 

* * *

 

"He's with somebody," Minhyuk says, stepping in next to Kihyun at the bar. "Some tall thin guy who doesn't deserve him."

"You sound jealous." Kihyun settles onto a barstool. "I'm getting a Bloody Mary. You want anything?"

Minhyuk stares across the room. It's dark and foggy and the spotlights overhead paint the distance between them in twisting neon colors but even at this distance and through this much distortion Minhyuk can see the purest, sweetest, most innocent boy in the universe downright _flirting_ with some scarecrow man who definitely doesn't deserve him. It's difficult to take.

"I want that guy's heart," Minhyuk says.

"I was thinking something on the menu."

If there's a gentle way to grab Kihyun by the collar and pull him threateningly up off of his stool Minhyuk has yet to find it, though to be fair he hasn't been trying very hard. This time he does try, and achieves a certain amount of measured success. "I want," Minhyuk says right in Kihyun's face, with every ounce of bloodlust he hasn't been able to strap down yet, "that guy's heart."

The effect is somewhat dulled by Kihyun's complete lack of concern. "I support you," he says, hanging from Minhyuk's fists. "I really do. But you're stretching out my shirt and I still want a Bloody Mary."

Minhyuk sets him down. "You know they don't actually put blood in Bloody Marys, right?"

"Do you think I'm stupid? No," says Kihyun, "it's sucking the water out of the celery I really look forward to."

“Do you want blood?” Minhyuk leans in to speak quietly in Kihyun’s ear. “‘Cause that tall thin guy needs to be somewhere else for a little while, if you know what I mean.”

There’s this relatively recent concept that vampires are pale. They can be, depending on their circumstances, but if you read the books— the old books, the ones bound in strange leather— you’ll find stories of dashing, florid gentlemen with the color high in their cheeks and the blood still hot in their mouths. This has always been the case: well-fed vampires are flushed and warm, almost to the extent that they seem truly alive. It’s only the vampires pushed to the knife’s edge of starvation that are pale.

Kihyun looks across the room and he’s so corpse-white that his lips are a dull, bruised purple. The only color on his face is in the shadows under his eyes and shattered disco ball reflections scattered across his skin. “ _Thass_ dangerous,” he mumbles, slurring a little. His teeth are coming out.

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not exactly a yeth either,” Kihyun lisps, canines lengthening, and his hand flies to his mouth. “Shit. Listen, okay, if this goes south—”

“It won’t,” Minhyuk coos, squeezing Kihyun’s shoulder companionably. “Just be careful. Don’t be stupid.”

“Too late for that.”

“That’s the Kihyun I know. Have a good time. Don’t do anything I would do.”

“That’s the only smart thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

* * *

 

Hyungwon touches the front left pocket of his jeans with one palm, staring unfocused into the middle distance. “I’m vibrating,” he says. “Hold on—” His phone is in his hand. “—I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

Jooheon says, “Hey, wait,” but Hyungwon is already gone, and Jooheon is alone.

Kind of. Not very. The low flicker of Hyungwon’s sleepy desire lights up the dark about as well as a single christmas light, but when he leaves the quiet should be more opaque, it should be thicker, it shouldn’t be thinning like a sunrise in the advance of a hundred thousand lightning bugs.

“If you’re trying to sneak up on me,” Jooheon says, trying like hell to sound bored, “you’re not doing a very good job.”

Infatuation tastes like orange sorbet, limerence like a cadillac margarita, but what he tastes now is a mimosa. Crisp and sweet and sour and bitter and bitter and sweet, the spark of champagne and the sting of citric acid and grenadine, too, everything tangled up together.

“Good thing I wasn’t, then.” The corpse of the guy whose soul Jooheon had sucked out his dick slides past him to lean on the edge of the table. He looks extremely alive for a corpse. The only reason this isn’t the most uncomfortable situation Jooheon’s ever been is because he’s had so many opportunities to be uncomfortable that something probably tops it, but he can’t think of any off the top of his head. “Returning to the scene of the crime?”

“What crime?”

“Denying me a round two,” says the corpse, and when he smiles he shows more teeth than Jooheon is strictly comfortable with. “I haven’t had somebody run out on me like that for a while. Do you think I’m dangerous?”

“No,” Jooheon lies. He’s calm. He’s so calm that he’s bored. “You just seem stubborn to me. If you don’t mind me asking...” What’s the right way to ask this question? “... How are you still alive?”

 _This guy_ , say fifteen million shrieking voices clamoring on the inside of his skull, _is supposed to be dead_.

 _Well, right,_ say a different fifteen million voices in an exasperated older sibling sort of way, _but he obviously isn’t, so let’s move on._

“The regular old way, I guess.”

“Your _heart_ stopped.”

“Skipped a beat, maybe. Minhyuk,” the corpse says, holding out his right hand. “Wonderful to meet you in a more formal setting.”

He takes Minhyuk’s hand and shakes it, because that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to do. “I’m pretty sure this is how we met the first time. What are you?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked first.”

“Gumiho,” says Minhyuk, and winks so fast Jooheon almost thinks he imagined it. “Now show me yours.”

The realization that he’s still holding Minhyuk’s hand washes over Jooheon like the kind of thing that washes over somebody when they don’t expect it, but he doesn’t let go. “Jooheon. Half demon.”

Minhyuk doesn’t let go either, but his face slowly morphs from vulpine mischievousness to a brittle, bloodless expression. “Oh,” he says. “That’s interesting.”

“Technically the term is cambion but that sounds like a prescription medication,” Jooheon continues, “so if I have to tell people about it I just say my mom’s a succubus.”

“Huh. Half demon.” Minhyuk rubs both hands over his face. “Your mom’s a succubus. Okay. So, what, does that make you half incubus or half succubus?”

“You think I know that? I don’t know any sex demons to compare experiences, all I know is that if I don’t get somebody off a couple times a month I break out in hives.” Jooheon knows he should probably stop talking, the only person he’s told any of this to is Hyungwon and they’ve been friends since before Jooheon accidentally killed his first boyfriend so he doesn’t count. Telling a stranger (a near stranger) in a weird club (okay, no weirder than he is) all of this simply isn’t in his best interests. Jooheon, fully aware of this fact, adds on, “So it’s cool that you didn’t die. Gumiho, huh?”

“Practically immortal,” Minhyuk says. “Unless you starve us for a thousand days.”

“Oh.” Somewhere, in a low, lost corner of Jooheon’s head, a meager three million voices whisper, _Wait. Does that mean I can feed off him and he won’t die?_ and Jooheon hears those voices loud and clear. “That’s interesting.”

“Meet me in the bathroom,” Minhyuk says.

 

* * *

 

Minhyuk is gonna kill him, butcher him, tear his heart out, and eat it. He’s gonna get everything back. He’s gonna get revenge, he’s gonna do a lot of things, but he definitely isn’t going to get stuck having sex with this guy again when he’s got better things to do, which explains why the sweetest, purest, most innocent boy on earth has thighs like heaven, soft and hot and so tight pressed together, so slippery with lotion, that Minhyuk finds himself bending him over one of the sinks in the nightclub bathroom and fucking his thighs. Which doesn't explain anything at all, because he's gotten stuck having sex with this guy again when he's got better things to do.

His face is pressed up against the mirror and his breath fogs the glass, quick and gasping, and Minhyuk can’t help but bite his neck. It’s not a claim, it’s leverage. (It's not a claim, it's leverage. Repeat that a few more times.) He braces himself on the porcelain sink, adjusts his stance—

"Hold on," gasps the boy he's fucking, arching and clinging to the back of Minhyuk's neck. "Stop, you're— you're gonna die—"

"Try me," Minhyuk hisses against his skin, "I'm practically immortal."

"You're gonna _die_." Notably, he doesn't stop moving his hips, grinding back on Minhyuk's cock like he's getting something a lot better than a thigh-fucking out of it. "I'm serious, your heart can’t take it, _stop_ —”

He really does try to stop, and he does kind of stop. He stops moving on purpose but it’s too late and he’s already rocketing past the point of no return, and when he comes it makes him feel like he's gonna black out, so he does. This time he tries not to but it doesn’t do any good.

When Minhyuk wakes up he’s on the floor with his fly still down but his dick tucked mercifully into his underwear, and somebody’s shaking him.

“Gimme a minute,” he slurs. This is going to take longer than a minute, but he’s having trouble parsing the passage of time so that’s all right. “I’m still half dead.”

“We don’t have time for you to be half dead.” The words visit him one by one, and it isn’t until the end that he realizes that they carried a message. “Min, I’m serious, we have to leave right fucking now—”

“Language,” Minhyuk sighs, slumping over slowly.

Kihyun slaps him across the face. “Fuck you,” he hisses, jerking him up off the floor. “What the hell were you doing in here, I’ve been looking for you—”

“Was gonna eat that guy’s heart. Yer pretty strong for a chipmunk, y’know that…?”

“Don’t test me, I swear to hell and back I will leave you here.”

“No you won’t,” Minhyuk sings, stumbling out of the bathroom under Kihyun’s power. “Ki, dude, I think I’ve got _legs_.”

“This is so fucked,” Kihyun moans, practically dragging Minhyuk down the dark hallway leading to the back door. “This is so fucking fucked, this is so fucked up—”

“Did you run into an ex or something?”

“No,” says Kihyun, snapping his fingers at the car to unlock the doors. “That tall thin guy is a goddamn hunter. Don’t— stop laughing, this isn’t a fucking joke, Min, goddamn it—”

“ _Language_ ,” Minhyuk says again. The seat belt buckle pokes him in the hip when Kihyun stuffs him into the passenger seat. “Okay, a hunter. Supposing you’re right, how do you even know—”

“He knew,” Kihyun interrupts, slamming the door. The lights go out, and the dashboard is lit up by neon cast through rain splattered glass. It’s still raining, the roof of the car rattling and echoing with every drop, and despite how quiet it is the air is thick with ringing humidity. “He knew I was coming. I followed him outside and he knew what I was.”

“Well,” says Minhyuk, whose dick is still wet. “That sucks. I fucked a half-demon’s thighs in the bathroom. You were right, by the way, totally a half-demon.”

The car roars to life. “You don’t have to lie to try to make me feel better.”


End file.
